


ficlet: hospital

by belovedmuerto



Series: He Kindly Stopped For Me [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Gen, M/M, death!john, demigod!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1537427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wakes up in hospital. He should be dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ficlet: hospital

**Author's Note:**

> These ficlets follow after the prologue I posted ages ago. I've been having fun with this 'verse without committing to a bigger story right now. 
> 
> As such, these are in no particular order so far, and I'm not putting them into a series yet, until I get a bit more written. They were all originally posted on my tumblr.

John blinks, and blinks, and blinks, and eventually his eyes begin to focus again.

He shouldn’t have eyes anymore. Not physical ones, anyway. 

Something churns in his gut, a memory starts to rise to the surface of his mind, and he lets it float away, because it isn’t pleasant, and it isn’t right, and he doesn’t want it.

John shifts his head and blinks again.

Bill Murray is stood at the foot of his bed.

“Mornin, sir.” Bill stands at parade rest.

John blinks at him. Blinks some more.

“What the fuck is going on?” John asks. At least, he thinks he asks it. He may just think it, because his throat is parched and his lips feel glued together.

Bill looks at him askance, and clears his throat. “Permission to speak freely?”

John nods.

“You’re in recovery in hospital. Um,” and here Bill looks away and down. There’s something he doesn’t want to tell John. He looks up again, and glances at John’s wrists. “And, um. There were some complications.”

John looks down at his wrists, at the delicate, shimmering chain that loops around them.

John’s vision goes red, and then white, and then the morphine kicks in and he drifts off again.

\----

There’s a warmth against his side, tethering his hand to the bed. Much like the chains that tether him to this plane. Delicate though they may look, they are nonetheless invulnerable to his powers, which only go so far, especially when he’s in mortal form.

Bill is still there, sat on the window ledge now, waiting patiently. One thing about reapers, they’re infinitely patient.

John feels more coherent now. More alive. 

He shouldn’t be alive at all. He was supposed to die in that alley, in Sherlock’s arms.

\----

Sherlock is staring at him. His hand is still on the bed next to John’s, not quite touching.

“Go,” John says, voice low and strained. “Leave.”

“John, I--”

“Leave, Sherlock. Leave.”

Sherlock stands slowly, watching John all the time. He can feel John’s anger, but he doesn’t understand it. He saved John’s life; he made John practically immortal. And John is furious with him. 

He can smell flowers and wine. John won’t look at him. 

Sherlock leaves.

John turns his head and stares out the small window, breathing deeply, trying to control himself, his anger. 

All of the machines in his room start screaming, just before they all short out.

\----

Sherlock is there in the morning when John wakes up, sitting on the window sill. John won’t look at him. They don’t speak. John doesn’t tell him to go again, and Sherlock doesn’t leave again.


End file.
